


baby, baby, drive me crazy

by softeldritch



Series: prompt fills [4]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, Choking, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mild Gunplay, POV Alternating, POV Outsider, Rough Sex, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-31 22:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeldritch/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: Patrik shrugs, and lifts his car keys to shake them just slightly. He doesn’t miss how Nikolaj’s eyes, pale in the low light, track the movement of his hand. “Wanna go for a ride?”Nikolaj swallows. Then he nods, just once, and his flush stains darker.





	baby, baby, drive me crazy

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: mafia au + enemies to lovers + “i know this looks bad, but i swear, it’s not.”
> 
> requested by lily on [tumblr](https://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/post/187037813178/4-2-25-um-patrik-and-nikolaj-obviously)
> 
> (title from _personal hell_ by kim petras)

“You know, you don’t _have_ to act like a glorified babysitter.”

Sami glances over to see Patrik watching him, hands resting lax on the steering wheel. Technically Sami’s supposed to drive him everywhere, but Patrik isn’t very good at listening to those kinds of orders. “I’m not your babysitter,” Sami says, maybe a little petulant about it. “If I was babysitting you I’d demand payment for it. I’m just looking out for you.”

Patrik raises his brows. “You mean following my dad’s orders.”

“Not this time,” Sami says, because he certainly _has_ been ordered to follow Patrik into a stupid decision before. 

A few years ago, Patrik used to pout and complain a lot more about basically having a guard. Now he just laughs, low and relaxed. “Why don’t you go have some of your own fun instead of following me around for once?” His crooked grin curls into a smirk, and Sami’s already dreading whatever words come out of his mouth. “What about that bartender that works at one of our places? The ex-con. He likes you!”

Pink flushes up Sami’s cheeks. “I’m not _you_,” he says, not as venomously as he’d like. “I don’t just . . . do that.”

“You could,” Patrik says with a shrug, still grinning. “But if you really wanna come, that’s fine. You just don’t have to.”

Sami’s eyes widen. “Of course I do!” He gestures out the front window. “You’re going into enemy territory!”

Patrik’s gaze flicks in the direction of Sami’s gesturing, at the building about half a block away. “‘Enemy territory’? It’s a nightclub, Sami, not a warzone.”

Okay, _yes_, it is a nightclub. From the outside it really doesn’t look all that suspicious—it’s all lit up with bright neon signs, a line of people trailing out from the door—but Sami can tell the bouncer at the door is carrying a gun even from this far away. “A nightclub owned by the _Danes_,” he points out, earning an eyeroll from Patrik. “I still don’t see why we’re meeting Ehlers’ son _here_ and not on neutral territory.”

Patrik shrugs. “It’s a show of good faith.” He must be tired of indulging Sami’s concerns, because he swings open the door and climbs out of the car, leaving Sami to follow him a little awkwardly. “Let them think they have the upper hand, you know?”

“If we’re on their territory they _do_ have the upper hand.”

“You know that’s not true.” Patrik meets him on the sidewalk, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Last chance to back out.”

Sami shakes his head, his half-ponytail smacking him in the temple. No, his job has always been, and always will be, to have Patrik’s back. Whether he’s actually being ordered to do it or not.

They skip past the entire line, receiving a few dirty looks as Patrik lopes right up to the bouncer. He gives the man an easy almost-smirk, and after a second of silence they’re being let through, Sami a shadow at Patrik’s back.

“Ehlers will probably make us wait a little bit,” Patrik says, just loud enough for Sami to hear him over the music. He starts heading in the direction of the bar. Sami follows. He doesn’t sit when Patrik does—too much instinct ingrained in him to keep his guard up and watch for any threats on Patrik’s life—but he orders a water when Patrik asks for a Coke.

Patrik starts flirting with a couple girls sitting near them, so Sami turns his head away and starts scanning the room. There isn’t really anything to be concerned with. Everything . . . disreputable is probably on the second floor, past the armed bouncer and the sign saying _VIPs Only_. 

So Sami turns back to Patrik, noticing immediately that he’s apparently already moved on from the college girls. Instead he’s got his hand on the thigh of a guy with a wide smile and ridiculous cheekbones, leaning in and making quiet conversation Sami can’t quite pick up.

That wouldn’t normally be a problem—or, not the type of problem that’ll get Patrik killed—but the guy looks kind of _familiar_. And he’s holding himself well, but Sami’s almost _sure_ he’s carrying a weapon.

“Pate,” he murmurs, leaning in, brushing a hand against Patrik’s shoulder. Sami’s eyes flick to the other guy, who’s watching with disinterest, and he keeps the next words in Finnish, “be careful, I think that might be—”

“Nikolaj Ehlers,” Patrik says easily. Sami can just barely see his fingers going tight around Nikolaj’s thigh. “The wrong one.” It takes Sami a moment to realize he’s said it in English.

Nikolaj’s eyes go wide. Then his entire demeanour melts away, leaving a glare and a dangerous sharpness to the lines of his face. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Sami stiffens, but Patrik just squeezes the hand around Nikolaj’s thigh again. Nikolaj scowls, and Sami—Sami thinks he might see him shiver, too, but it’s too hard to tell. “We’re on business,” Patrik says simply.

“We don’t do business with you guys,” Nikolaj says. He looks like he might start a fight, and Sami glances around, trying to figure out the best course of action if that _does_ happen. The crowd on the dance floor is probably their best bet; nobody would shoot up their own nightclub, no matter how pissed off they are. 

Patrik, of course, isn’t concerned at all about any potential fight. “Maybe you don’t,” he says, and Sami can see just enough of his profile to know he’s smirking. “That’s why I’m not here for you.”

Nikolaj’s eyes flash. “Get the fuck out.” Something glints in his hand, and Sami notices a second too late he’s got a knife. “I’m not saying it twice.”

Well, this is why Sami didn’t want to do this meeting on Danish territory. He steps up closer to Patrik’s side, hand twitching towards the gun hidden under his coat. 

“Are you going to stab me?” Patrik’s still the perfect picture of calm, which is as unsettling as it is dangerous. Sami watches him closely, waiting for a signal, but Patrik just leans a little closer to Nikolaj and raises his brows. “That’s a bad idea.”

Nikolaj’s mouth pulls into a sneer, and he leans in a little closer. “So is coming _here_, Laine.”

“I told you, I’m here on business.”

“And I told you, we don’t do business with you.” Nikolaj’s still holding the knife, tucked under his fingers and mostly hidden from view. “Get off our territory.”

Patrik’s lips twitch. “You just said it twice,” he says, his voice almost a purr. “You’re not going to stab me.” He takes a sip of his Coke, not once taking his eyes off Nikolaj. Sami’s almost impressed, how long the staring contest has gone on. He knows from experience just how intimidating Patrik can be. “Do you really want to start a war?”

Nikolaj’s eyes narrow. “I’m thinking about it.”

Both of them lean in a little closer, Patrik’s thumb pressing even harder into Nikolaj’s inner thigh, and Sami’s alarm bells start going off. Oh, _no_. No, that’s so beyond a bad idea that even _Patrik_ should know better.

He’s saved from having to say anything by a figure descending from the VIP stairs. “Pate,” Sami says maybe a little desperately, touching Patrik’s shoulder again, trying to draw his attention away from—from _that_. “Ehlers is coming, get your hands off his little brother.”

Nikolaj’s face screws up. “What’d he say?”

Patrik blinks, eyes meeting Sami’s. He moves back slowly, casually, hand slipping off Nikolaj’s thigh. Then he stands up, striding towards the proper Ehlers—Sebastian—and leaving Nikolaj behind wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Sami follows, thankful to every god he knows that he didn’t have to intervene in whatever _that_ was.

* * *

It’s easy enough for Patrik to lose Sami. Sure, Sami knows his patterns, but that goes both ways. So Patrik waits until Sami’s distracted by some important family business and won’t be free for a few hours.

Then he goes back to the Danes’ nightclub.

He knows it’s a bad idea, as the bouncer gives him a once-over and a suspicious look before letting him through. It might even be a stupid idea; his . . . target may not even be there tonight. But Patrik’s instincts have never led him astray.

He scans the club when he steps in, but all he sees are flashing lights and sweaty, drunk college students. Not to be deterred, he heads to the bar to order a glass of water, and posts up against the wall where he’s got the most complete view of the dance floor _and_ the stairs leading up to the VIP floor. Then it’s a waiting game. Luckily, Patrik’s specialty is staring patiently down the scope of a rifle, waiting for the perfect opening.

Eventually, Nikolaj comes down the stairs. He looks good, in a black tshirt with a white geometric pattern on it and dark, tight-fitting jeans. There’s a man walking with him, tall and skinny with curly hair and sleepy eyes, and they’re both laughing. Patrik wonders whether they’re together—then just as quickly decides he doesn’t care, because that’s never stopped him from getting what he wants.

Patrik knows how noticeable he is, especially where he’s chosen to stand. So he’s not at all surprised when Nikolaj’s eyes land on him.

Nikolaj’s eyes go wide, jaw tight. Patrik knows the pressure of his own gaze and doesn’t even blink, just stares until the shocked expression on Nikolaj’s face bleeds into something raw and angry.

Then Patrik makes a single gesture with a flick of his head. _Follow me_.

He pushes off the wall, leaving his water glass abandoned on a table somewhere as he heads for the exit. He doesn’t check to see whether Nikolaj’s following, doesn’t stop once he’s out into the cool night air. Just keeps walking until he makes it to the alley where his car is parked. It’s further in, just out of view of the street, so Patrik stops and waits with his back leaning against the dark stucco wall.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Nikolaj slips out of the front door with his head ducked low. He looks up once he’s a few steps away from the bouncer, and his eyes almost look murderous, mouth set in a scowl—but there’s a blotchy flush on his gaunt cheeks that’s a lot more noticeable in the brightness of the streetlights.

He approaches Patrik with his hands curled into fists at his sides, and stops with just over an arm’s length of distance between them. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Patrik shrugs, and lifts his car keys to shake them just slightly. He doesn’t miss how Nikolaj’s eyes, pale in the low light, track the movement of his hand. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Nikolaj swallows. Then he nods, just once, and his flush stains darker.

Patrik pushes off from the wall, leaving his back open to Nikolaj as he turns down the alley. It’s completely deserted, tall buildings on all sides, almost claustrophobic. Patrik keeps walking, viscerally aware of Nikolaj keeping pace a half-step behind. He doesn’t trust Patrik. Good; they might both be dumb to do this, but Patrik doesn’t want it if Nikolaj’s actually brainless.

His car is parked just around another corner, sleek and black. Patrik takes a moment to admire before slipping his car keys back into his pocket.

Nikolaj notices. “What are you—”

Patrik spins, and just barely catches Nikolaj’s wide eyes before he’s fisting a hand in the front of Nikolaj’s shirt and hauling him around. Nikolaj goes easy—too-easy—and bites out a curse when Patrik slams his back up against the side of the car. Then they’re just staring at each other, Nikolaj breathing hard and glaring, arching a little against Patrik’s weight pinning him to the car.

“I’d _never _let an Ehlers in my car,” Patrik murmurs, face splitting in a crooked grin. “That’s not what I meant by ride.”

Nikolaj sneers. “Fuckin’ hilarious.”

When they kiss it’s furious and biting, a clash of teeth and tongues. Patrik presses his weight until Nikolaj wheezes and gasps—then shoves his tongue into Nikolaj’s open mouth, licking at the backs of his teeth and swallowing down the ragged moan caught in Nikolaj’s throat. Nikolaj lights up beneath him like a live wire, trembling and writhing against Patrik’s body, hands curled painfully tight around Patrik’s arms.

Nikolaj’s fingers dig in harder and he wrenches away from the kiss, breathing open-mouthed against Patrik’s cheek. “Not here,” he grinds out, voice already ragged. “We’re in public.”

Patrik shrugs. He bites at Nikolaj’s cheek; he’s clean-shaven this time, and Patrik’s not sure which he likes better. “Nobody’s coming here,” he says.

“Anyone could—could see us,” Nikolaj argues, stuttering over his words when Patrik bites down hard on his jaw. He's grabbing at Patrik's waist and pulling him closer anyway. “If one of mine—“

Patrik’s curls a hand around Nikolaj’s throat, and his mouth snaps shut so hard his teeth clack. He squeezes a little, leaning back to see the way Nikolaj’s eyes have gone wide, the way his chin has tipped up to make room for Patrik’s hand. “Guess you’ll just have to be quiet,” Patrik murmurs, “so nobody hears you.”

Nikolaj still looks like he’s about to argue, so Patrik squeezes a little tighter, turning his next breath into a wheeze. 

What he’s _not_ expecting is for Nikolaj’s eyes to flutter shut, hips rolling forward against Patrik’s thigh. A broken groan slips through his clenched teeth, a shudder running up the length of his spine, and Patrik’s blood boils at the sight. 

He leans in, nosing at Nikolaj’s cheekbone. “So you _like _this.”

“Shut up,” Nikolaj chokes. 

Patrik tries something—he shoves his thigh even harder against Nikolaj’s dick, and Nikolaj ruts against him and tips his head back even more. “I think maybe _you_ should shut up.” He increases the pressure of his fingers and Nikolaj’s hips jerk. “Are you this easy for everyone? Or am I special?”

Nikolaj curls a hand painfully tight around Patrik’s wrist, fingertips digging in. “Fuck you.”

Patrik gives him a messy, open-mouthed kiss just to steal his breath even more. Nikolaj moans into it, claws at Patrik’s back with his other hand. It’s intoxicating, just how reactive he is, and when Patrik pulls back they’re both gasping down air. “How about I fuck you instead?”

He drags Nikolaj away from the car, wrestling with him until they’re pressed together back to front. Nikolaj struggles, clawing at the hand Patrik still has wrapped around his throat—but not quite enough for Patrik to think he actually wants to get away. More like he’s just trying to feel Patrik’s grip curl tighter. He goes easy enough when Patrik shoves him face down against the hood of the car, arching his spine and grinding back against Patrik’s dick, spitting out a Danish curse against the black metal.

“You look good like this,” Patrik hums, sweeping his hands up Nikolaj’s narrow waist. Nikolaj squirms, reaching back and pushing at Patrik’s hands, teeth bared even though his cheek is pressed up against the hood. He’s hot, but fuck is he _annoying_. Patrik’s getting tired of it, so he grabs one of Nikolaj’s arms and wrenches it up behind his back, pinning his wrist just below his shoulder blades. “You’d look a lot better if you stopped moving, though.”

Nikolaj laughs, ragged and breathless. “Deal with it,” he snarls, shifting his shoulders, gritting his teeth and groaning when the movement pulls against the grip Patrik has on his arm.

“Careful.” Patrik tugs his arm up a little higher, grinning at Nikolaj’s high-pitched whine. “I don’t wanna break this.”

That seems to get through to Nikolaj; he shivers, and goes still. Patrik switches so he’s pinning Nikolaj down with his left hand, digging through his pocket for lube and a condom, setting them both on the hood next to Nikolaj’s waist. 

Patrik fumbles at Nikolaj’s belt until it’s undone, tugs at his jeans until they’re spread around his thighs. Then he takes a second to stare; Nikolaj has a nice ass, _and_ there’s something filthy about having him bent over the hood like this, in some alley two corners from the street. Satisfaction purrs in Patrik’s chest, especially when Nikolaj starts shifting on his feet and jerking against the strength of Patrik’s grip.

“Hurry up.”

A breathless laugh falls from Patrik’s mouth. “You’re that desperate for it?” He ignores the insults Nikolaj whispers through gritted teeth, instead focusing on opening the cap of the lube with just one hand. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take good care of you.”

Nikolaj freezes. “Call me baby again,” he says, low and threatening. “See what happens.”

Patrik’s almost tempted. But he has more important things to do.

Nikolaj whines at the first press of Patrik’s fingers inside him, forehead thumping against the car. His legs are already shaking, free hand curling uselessly on the hood, breath coming ragged and fast as Patrik crooks two fingers and presses up against his prostate. 

He doesn’t waste much time on prep. He’s fucking a member of a sworn rival family in some grungy back alley, he’s not gonna be _gentle_.

And if the way Nikolaj moans when Patrik spreads his fingers and pulls them out is any indication, he doesn’t really _want_ gentle.

Patrik releases Nikolaj’s wrist to open and roll on the condom, hissing at the pressure of his own fingers. When he rubs the head of his cock over Nikolaj’s lube-slick hole they both curse, both of Nikolaj’s hands reaching up to tug at his hair, Patrik’s breath catching in his throat. “Ready?” he asks, and doesn't wait for an answer before thrusting in to the hilt.

“_Fuck_—“ Nikolaj’s head bangs against the hood and he clamps both hands over his mouth, muzzling the rest of the curse. “Fuck, _fuck_. You fucker.”

A smug grin curls across Patrik’s face, despite his laboured breathing and the arousal burning through his body like a wildfire. “Sorry, sorry,” he croons, grabbing Nikolaj’s hips, digging his fingers in hard enough there might be bruises tomorrow. “Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe you can’t take it.” He grinds his hips, slow and gentle and teasing, and Nikolaj thumps his head against the hood again.

“If you back out now I’ll kill you,” Nikolaj promises, his voice high and broken. “You motherfucker, I’ll—“

Patrik pulls out and thrusts back in, and whatever threat he was making breaks into a loud moan. Almost too loud. Patrik drags a hand up his back, his shirt already damp with sweat. “Careful. Don️’t want someone hearing.”

Nikolaj’s shoulders roll, head bowing forward, hand shifting in front of his mouth. 

“I could find something to gag you with,” Patrik offers, mostly joking. Apparently not well-received, judging by Nikolaj turning his head back to glare at him. Patrik snickers, giving another aborted thrust, and Nikolaj just barely manages to muffle his groan. “Not this time?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Patrik pulls back out nearly to the tip before rolling his hips forward in one continuous movement, and Nikolaj’s moan breaks into a whine halfway through. He pointedly digs his fingers into Nikolaj’s hips when he asks, “do _you_?”

He fucks Nikolaj deep, thorough, almost violent. Everything about this—Nikolaj’s noises, the way his legs are shaking, how _tight_ he is around Patrik’s dick—it’s driving Patrik wild, burning under his skin and low in his belly. Especially where they are, how easy it’d be for someone to turn into this deserted alley. How easy it’d be for one of the Danes to see their boss’ son bent over Patrik’s car.

It doesn’t take long before Nikolaj’s shoving back against every thrust, feet slipping as he looks for leverage. He’s squeezing every time Patrik pulls out, like he’s trying to keep him inside, and the whines he’s muffling into his hand are turning high-pitched and breathless.

“_Lutka_,” Patrik murmurs, knowing Nikolaj won’t be able to understand him. He slows his rhythm into long, dragging thrusts and plants a hand wide on Nikolaj’s back, eyes caught on the tremor that runs up Nikolaj’s spine and through his entire body. “What would _your people_ say if they saw you like this?”

Nikolaj jolts. “_Oh god_,” he mumbles, so quiet Patrik can barely hear it. “I’m gonna—you gotta go _faster_—“

Patrik pauses, hips flush with Nikolaj’s ass. “I think you can ask nicer than that.”

“Fuck you, you dick,” Nikolaj spits, leveraging up onto his elbows trying to shove back and start his own rhythm. Patrik grabs him by the hips, holding him still, and Nikolaj whines. “Fuck you, just—“ He groans. “Please, just hurry up, don’t—don’t _tease_.”

Well, Patrik doesn’t really need any more encouragement than that. He shifts his grip on Nikolaj’s hips, sliding up to his waist, and fucks him so hard it’s dizzying. Nikolaj collapses onto his forearms, muffling a long, drawn-out groan into his skin.

Patrik’s barely touched Nikolaj’s dick before he’s coming, all over Patrik’s hand and his own jeans, whimpering through gritted teeth. The pressure around Patrik’s cock tips him over the edge. His orgasm hits him like a gunshot and he groans, slumping over, both hands braced on either side of Nikolaj’s waist to keep himself standing.

For a long few seconds, all Patrik can hear is the ringing in his ears and the sound of Nikolaj’s short, sharp breaths.

“Fuck,” Nikolaj says eventually, laughter in his shredded voice. “You better get out of here before someone comes looking for me.” He arches his back, turning his head just enough to grin smugly at Patrik. It kinda makes Patrik want to get a hand around his throat again. “If they saw you right now they’d shoot you.”

Yeah, that’s probably true. And a good point. This was a bad enough idea already; Patrik’s not gonna risk sticking around even longer.

He pulls out and steps back, watching the way Nikolaj’s thighs shake and almost instinctively press together. Nikolaj looks good like this; trembling and well-fucked, struggling to get his arms underneath him to push himself up. Patrik stares, tugging off the condom and tucking himself back into his pants.

“Need some help?” he asks eventually, while Nikolaj’s still hunched over on his elbows and gulping down air.

“Oh, fuck you.” _Slowly_, Nikolaj pushes himself up. It’s cute, how shaky his legs are, how even in the darkness his face is flushed and blotchy. His fingers fumble to do up his belt buckle, and ugly satisfaction burrows into Patrik’s chest with the knowledge that _he_ did that. 

“We should do this again,” Patrik says with a grin. It spreads even wider when Nikolaj’s eyes narrow. “You were fun.”

Nikolaj crosses his arms, eyebrows raising. “Well, you were _alright_. But no way is this _ever_ happening again.”

He sounds so sure of himself, Patrik almost believes him.

* * *

Patrik has been acting . . . weird. Sami would know, considering he spends way too much time with him. Except lately, which is the problem; Patrik keeps disappearing, not telling anyone where he’s going, and it’s _Sami’s_ job to track him down and bring him back to get chastised by his father. It’s unfair, because then Sami gets chastised for not keeping a good eye on him, as though anyone has ever been able to control Patrik Laine.

Not that he’s had much luck tracking Patrik down in the first place. Usually he just goes to every place Patrik usually frequents, finds nothing, and gets yelled at five hours later when Patrik finally shows up for a meeting with his father.

Tonight seems like it might be going the same way. Sami’s been to Patrik’s apartment, to his favourite restaurants, to all the bars his family owns. He’s just stepped into the VIP section of the last one on his list, and a quick scan of the room reveals no head of pale blond hair. Sami sighs, and makes his way to the bar. Bartenders always know everything, like a secret superpower. If Patrik _has_ been here, one of them will be able to tell him _something_. Probably not what he needs to know, unfortunately, but anything is better than wandering around looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found.

When Sami slides onto a barstool, the first thing he notices is the broad shoulders and back of the bartender, emphasized by the cut of his crisp black shirt. Then the bartender turns around, and Sami feels heat flush up his cheeks. He’d recognize that floppy, fluffy hair and perfectly maintained facial hair anywhere.

The man’s eyes land on him, warm and inviting. “Hey!” He sidles closer, oozing charisma. Well, that is his job, after all. “Can I get you something?”

Sami shakes his head. Then nods. “Ah, water, please?” His heart hammers in his chest.

The bartender—Ben—nods. He grabs a glass, and Sami finally finds his words.

“Has Patrik been here?” Ben glances up at him, eyes sharp. Being under that stare makes Sami flush even hotter. “Patrik Laine. The son of—“

“I know who you’re talking about,” Ben interrupts, not unkindly. “Sorry, can’t say I’ve seen him tonight. I’ve been here about six hours, so unless he came in at seven . . .” He shrugs. “Have you checked anywhere else?” He hands over the water. 

“_Kiitos_,” Sami murmurs, curling his fingers around the cool glass, condensation dripping down the side. “Yes, I looked everywhere he would be, and he isn’t _anywhere_.”

Ben is silent for a moment, almost contemplative. “You’re Sami, right?”

Oh. Sami nods, consciously trying not to bite his lip too hard. 

The smile Ben gives him in return is brilliant, wide and open and easy. Butterflies flutter in Sami’s stomach and he nervously reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears. A smile like that should be reserved for—for professional photography, not for Sami’s awkward fumbling through this conversation. “I’m Ben.”

“Yes, I know,” Sami says, a moment before his brain catches up with him. His face burns. “I mean, um . . .”

Ben just laughs. It doesn’t seem fair that even his _laugh_ is perfect. “I’ve seen you in here a couple times, with Patrik.” He leans forward, elbows on the bar, a knowing grin on his face. Sami barely manages not to lean backwards on the barstool. “Are you two, y’know, together?”

“_Mitä_?” Sami shakes his head, a sigh slipping loose. “No, I am his keeper. But sometimes I feel like . . . _lapsenvahti_? Like he is a child.” Frustration bubbles up in his chest, making him huff. “Pate, he just likes to go around and do whatever he wants, even though there are people which would _kill_ him.” A lock of hair falls in his face and Sami sighs his frustration at _that_, too, angrily tucking it back. “He tells me I worry too much, but I think he doesn’t worry at all, about anything.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “So . . . you’re _pining_ after him.”

“No!” Sami frowns, thinking of some crazy universe where he was stupid enough to fall for Patrik Laine. “Pate is too much for me. And not my type, too blond, it’s like dating family.”

“So you’re single?”

The question hits Sami like a punch in the face. He swallows, meeting Ben’s eyes. “Um. Yes?”

Ben’s mask of calm breaks into a smile. “Good to know.”

“Oh,” Sami says, then curses himself for it. He already sounds ridiculous enough in English, being dumbstruck isn’t going to help.

Luckily, Ben doesn’t seem bothered by his awkwardness. He just laughs. “You’re cute.” Sami freezes, red heating his cheeks, as Ben reaches across the bar to gently tug at a strand of hair, untucking it from behind his ear. The brush of Ben’s fingertips against his cheek is soft and incidental, and Sami tries very hard not to whimper. “I’m off in twenty minutes, if you wanna get some food after this.”

The way he’s staring at Sami, eyes dark and molten, makes it seem like food isn’t actually on the menu.

This time Sami does whimper. “I . . .” His voice comes out wobbly. He swallows and tries again. “I have to find Patrik . . .”

Ben smirks at him. “Do you really think you’re gonna find him? Where are you planning to check next?”

“I, ah.” Sami’s heart skips. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Sounds like a waste of your time, if you ask me.”

_It is_, Sami thinks, but doesn’t say. He knows from experience that if Patrik doesn’t want to be found, there will be no finding him. Continuing the search—especially without any more places to check—is all but pointless.

And . . . and Patrik is always saying he should have fun. _This_ kind of fun, with a man staring at him dark-eyed and smirking across a bar. Most of Sami’s life is dedicated to watching Patrik’s back, so maybe . . . maybe, if Patrik isn’t around for him to watch, he can take a night for himself. 

Sami swallows, and musters up his courage. “Yes,” he blurts, before fear makes him swallow it down. Ben’s mouth curls into a grin. “Maybe it is better, to do something else.”

Ben reaches over the bar again, twirling a strand of Sami’s hair around his finger. His thumb brushes Sami’s lips and electricity spreads from the point of contact. “Twenty minutes, beautiful.”

Sami’s almost certain it’ll be the longest twenty minutes of his life.

* * *

“Oh, wow.” Nikolaj’s voice carries into Patrik’s ensuite bathroom. Patrik dries his hands on a fluffy towel and heads back into the bedroom. He takes a moment to appreciate the view; Nikolaj, stretched out naked and sweaty on his stomach across Patrik’s bed, sheets rumpled beneath him. There’s a grin on his face when he glances over his shoulder, and his hand lifts to wave Patrik’s handgun in the air. “You actually have a gun under your pillow.”

Patrik grins right back, loping towards the bed. “I might need it someday.” He climbs on the bed, straddling the backs of Nikolaj’s thighs, steadying himself with both hands spread wide across Nikolaj’s lower back. 

Nikolaj squirms and stretches, a moan slipping out when Patrik starts a slow, intense massage at the base of his spine. “Or you’re gonna get shot by the next person you bring home.”

The low, throaty groan Nikolaj lets loose has Patrik’s dick stirring again, even though they just went five minutes ago. “I don’t bring anyone here but you,” he says, digging his thumbs into Nikolaj’s back muscle.

Nikolaj practically _purrs_. “Good.”

“Aw.” Patrik presses down a little harder than necessary, mouth twitching when Nikolaj’s moan turns pained. “You’re jealous? Don’t worry, baby, you’re my favourite.”

It’s honestly dangerous, how true that is. Patrik’s fucking other people, but—well, there’s a reason he keeps coming back.

“Sucks for you,” Nikolaj mumbles, arching his back into Patrik’s hands. “You’re not even on my top ten.”

Fine, if he wants to be like that. Patrik leans forward, one hand braced at the base of Nikolaj’s spine as he carefully picks up the discarded gun. It sits comfortably in his hand, a familiar weight he knows as well as his own face. He clicks off the safety, presses the barrel to the back of Nikolaj’s head, and croons, “you sure?”

Nikolaj goes still. “P-Patrik,” he stutters, voice trailing off indistinctly. A shudder runs through him, so violent Patrik can feel it under his thighs and against his hand.

Patrik presses the gun a little harder, until Nikolaj’s head bows and his elbows give out. “Right there,” he says slowly, kneading his other hand into Nikolaj’s spine. “Stay like that.”

Despite Patrik’s weight holding him in place, Nikolaj’s hips jerk.

Patrik laughs, clicking the safety back on and dropping the gun on the far corner of the bed. Nikolaj’s still trembling when he lowers himself down to blanket his body, forearms braced on the mattress near Nikolaj’s head. “You’re way too into that,” he snickers, kissing the shell of Nikolaj’s ear.

Nikolaj grinds his ass up against Patrik’s half-hard dick. “Yeah, and you’re way too into doing it.”

They fuck again, just like that—Patrik covering Nikolaj’s body with his own, mouthing at his shoulders and the nape of his neck, hips moving in tiny, grinding thrusts. It’s slow and heady and intoxicating, almost hypnotic. Even Nikolaj’s being quiet, murmuring noises into the circle of his arms and rocking steadily back.

It’s not until Patrik comes, teeth dug into the junction between Nikolaj’s neck and shoulder, that he realizes they forgot about another condom. Maybe it’s stupid, but he really can’t find it in himself to care. Especially with Nikolaj whimpering and grinding against him, chasing his own orgasm without even a hand on his dick.

Patrik doesn’t pull out, just collapses on Nikolaj’s body. “Sorry,” he murmurs into Nikolaj’s hair, “forgot the condom.”

Nikolaj shudders. “S’fine.”

Tucking his face into the crook of Nikolaj’s neck, Patrik lets his eyes drift shut and breathes in the scent of Nikolaj’s sweat. It’s strangely comfortable, even though Nikolaj’s all skin and bones and hard muscle. Patrik wraps his arms around Nikolaj’s and laces their fingers together, fighting down a smile when Nikolaj sighs.

“Hey,” Nikolaj says quietly. “Don’t drop the gun next time.”

Patrik pauses. “You want me to fuck you at gunpoint?”

The lazy movement Nikolaj makes beneath him is almost a shrug. “Why not?”

Patrik . . . can’t ignore the bolt of arousal that shoots down his spine like lightning. Having Nikolaj vulnerable under him is one thing—having Nikolaj’s life in his hands is undeniably powerful. But Patrik’s been around guns his whole life. He knows the rules. Breaks them, sometimes, but . . . “All it takes is a twitchy finger,” he says, trying to ignore the tremor in his own voice. “Or a mistake. Or _anything_.”

“Then make it an exercise of self control, I dunno.” Nikolaj’s next words are quiet, almost whispered. “I trust you.”

_Oh_, Patrik thinks, gasping into Nikolaj's skin like he just got punched in the gut. _Shit, that’s trouble_.

* * *

One of the first things Sami learned about Ben was that he has _very_ talented hands. The thought brings a flush to his cheeks, even as Ben’s only using those hands to comb through his hair and massage his scalp. Sami breathes out a sigh, burrowing his face even closer into Ben’s stomach, arms wrapping tighter around Ben’s waist.

Ben laughs. “That feel good, honey?”

“You know it does,” Sami hums, words muted against Ben’s shirt. “Your hands, they are . . .” The rest of his words trail into Finnish, mostly nonsense babbling as Ben’s fingernails scrape bluntly over his scalp and send shivers running down his spine.

“Oh, yeah?” Ben’s hands move down to massage his neck and shoulders, and Sami positively melts. “Wanna see what else I can do with my hands?”

Sami’s about to take him up on that offer when his phone chimes. Dammit. He recognizes that tone. He drags his head up off Ben’s stomach and glares at his phone where it’s sitting on Ben’s bedside table, the screen lit up to show Sami’s nondescript background of a wintery forest landscape.

“I need to answer,” he says, not bothering to conceal his pout.

Ben’s fingers run through his hair. “Yeah, I get it. Can’t ignore the boss.” He leans over, jostling Sami a little as he grabs the phone. “Do you have to leave?”

Sami opens the message. Ah. Patrik needs fetching again. “Yes,” he says mournfully, forehead dropping back against Ben’s stomach. “Maybe if you kidnap me, I don’t have to go.”

Ben’s laugh rumbles in his chest. “I think I’d be out of a job, though.”

“Conmen are _never_ out of a job,” Sami points out.

“True as that is, I’d rather keep the job where I get to see my boyfriend on the regular.”

Part of Sami still gets giggly like a schoolgirl whenever Ben calls him his boyfriend. The other part slowly pushes up off the bed, skin already cold where he’s not touching Ben anymore. “Maybe I find him soon,” he offers, giving Ben a small smile. “And I come back here?”

A smile tugs at Ben’s mouth. “Anything’s possible.” He follows Sami off the bed, trailing after him as they head to the door of Ben’s apartment. When they’re at the door Ben curls both hands around his hips and turns him, backing him up against the wall. He presses a kiss against Sami’s mouth, sweet and lingering, tugging on his lower lip when he pulls back. “There.” He smiles, and Sami’s knees go weak. “Call that incentive.”

Sami huffs out a sigh. “How am I supposed to go and find him _now_?”

“You’ll figure it out.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth. “Come back soon, sweetheart.”

It’s difficult, but Sami eventually convinces himself to leave Ben’s apartment and head back downstairs to his car. He scowls the entire way down, wishing that _for once_ Patrik could be a responsible adult and at least pick up his damn phone instead of forcing Sami on a wild goose chase around the city.

He is, admittedly, a lot more angry about it now that he actually _has_ a life outside of being Patrik’s shadow.

First place he always checks is Patrik’s apartment, just in case he’s asleep or gaming and ignoring his phone. Going by the pattern from the last few months, though, Patrik won’t be there, and he won’t be anywhere else.

It’s a relatively short drive to Patrik’s high-rise. Sami spends the entire ride stewing in his own frustrations, tugging strands of hair behind his ears even though Ben always tells him to wear it loose. The frustration lingers as he’s marching through the lobby of Patrik’s building, and really only builds when he puts the penthouse key into the elevator and starts the ride up.

Just . . . _stupid Patrik_. Of course he has to start being even _less_ responsible right around the time Sami got a boyfriend.

(That Sami _got_ the boyfriend because he was chasing Patrik down is irrelevant.)

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal Patrik’s semi-lit apartment. “Pate?” Sami calls, stepping out into the main entrance, head cocked to listen for any signs of life. Nothing, but Patrik _does_ have excellent soundproofing. He starts towards the entertainment room, because that’s the most likely place Patrik’s gonna be. “Pate, are you—”

He steps past the tall archway into the entertainment room and stops dead. Patrik’s here. Patrik’s here and he has a _guest_.

There’s a game menu up on the massive flatscreen, a couple controllers sitting abandoned on the coffee table. But Sami’s most interested in Patrik, reclined in his favourite chair, and the guy straddling his lap and laughing into the crook of his neck. 

Sami flushes, but he shakes it off. This is far from the first time he’s walked in on Patrik and a stranger, and it’s far from the most compromising position. Mostly he’s just surprised that Patrik actually brought someone _home_, but maybe while Sami was off getting himself a boyfriend Patrik was too?

He clears his throat. “Pate?”

Both of them freeze. Patrik’s eyes snap open, cold and bright as he meets Sami’s gaze, and his hands go a little tighter around the other man’s waist. “Sami,” he says, a little bit ragged. “This—this is a bad time.” He’s speaking English, which must mean his boyfriend isn’t Finnish.

Sami sighs. “Your dad wants to see you.”

Patrik nods. Then he murmurs something into the other man’s ear, quiet enough that Sami can’t hear, and they both move to get up off the chair.

That’s when Sami realizes why Patrik’s acting so strange.

It was a little difficult to tell, at first, but now that Sami’s had a proper look there’s no mistaking those cheekbones. Nikolaj Ehlers is standing in Patrik’s apartment, wearing baggy sweats and a loose button-down that Sami’s almost certain he’s seen Patrik wearing, looking flushed and awkward as he glances between Sami and Patrik. Tense, too, like he’s about to bolt, and Sami’s instincts flare up.

“Patrik, can we talk?” he says in Finnish, keeping his eyes locked on Nikolaj’s.

Patrik groans. “Yeah, gimme a second.” He says something quietly to Nikolaj again, ducking down to whisper in his ear, and a second later Nikolaj nods and briefly squeezes his wrist. Then Nikolaj leaves the room, slipping past Sami with ease. Sami watches him until he disappears in the vague direction of the bedroom.

When Sami turns back around, Patrik’s grinning sheepishly at him.

“_Pate_,” Sami admonishes. 

“I know this looks bad,” Patrik says, shrugging, “but I swear it’s not.”

“Pate,” Sami repeats. “He’s an Ehlers. He’s a _Dane_.”

Patrik nods. “Yeah, I know.” He grins at Sami, all bold confidence and reckless stupidity. “He’s not the heir, at least. And he’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

Sometimes, ridiculously complicated things just seem to work out for Patrik. Sami is almost certain that this isn’t one of those things. Sleeping with the literal enemy—they almost had a hit called in on his brother just two weeks ago!—is so far beyond complicated it’s unbelievable. And Sami might be able to forgive it if Patrik was doing it to get insider information, but—

Patrik doesn’t invite _anyone_ to his place. Sami and his family are the only ones who have even been _inside_.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses, maintaining the Finnish, mindful of the fact that Nikolaj may be listening. “This is _bad_, Pate, this is _very bad_! He could be using you for information, or he could be planning on killing you—”

“He’s not.” It’s said with an air of finality. “I trust him.”

Sami’s mouth drops open. “_Why_?”

A crooked smile tugs at Patrik’s mouth. “Love makes you stupid?”

“Oh my god, Patrik.” Sami shakes his head, hair coming loose from where it’s tucked behind his ears. He shoves it back, glaring at Patrik’s stupid confident grin. “_You_ are going to go to a meeting with your father, right now, and you’re going to kick Ehlers out of your apartment. And I’m going to pretend I didn’t see anything, because I’m not going to be the one to report this back to your father.”

Patrik’s grin turns into an open-mouthed, toothy smile. “Thanks, Sami. You always have my back.”

Sami scowls, crossing his arms, trying not to be to petulant. “Unfortunately.”

Ultimately, though, Patrik’s right. Sami’s loyalties lie with him above all else—above his own father, and above the head of the _family_. He’ll always be on Patrik’s side before anyone else’s.

That, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to be the one explaining this to Patrik’s father.

**Author's Note:**

> this may be my favourite prompt?? anyway thank you for reading!!!
> 
> [tumblr](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/softeldritch)


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